The Colors of Hope
by asphyxe
Summary: Tom Riddle was the DADA professor at Hogwarts before Dumbledore in his panic and love for his supposed enemy shot a failed killing curse at him during the Great Battle at Hogwarts. Years later, Harry Potter, 13 years old, receives a gift before he goes back to the Dursleys. He gets a smart, charismatic, powerful and bitter pocket-sized protector named Tom. SLASH HPTR
1. Prologue

_So, this is how the great Tom Marvolo Riddle perishes,_ Tom thought, his arms screaming in protest and legs shaking from the exertion as he fired spell after spell from his wand. _Saving these brats barely younger than I am, yet so_ unable _to utter a simple_ Protego. Casting a wordless and wandless _Bombarda Maxima_ in his left hand and a clear shield with his wand, Tom skid out of the shield before it fully formed, watching in amusement as girlish screams erupted within it. _Honestly, can't they_ see _the spells are ricocheting and not hitting them?_ Tom scoffed, masking the fear and panic bubbling within him uncertainly.

He didn't want to die.

 _"Carpe Retractum!"_ Tom casted before conjuring a short silver dagger and barely wincing as one of Grindlewald's followers was pulled in and pierced in the leg. He groaned and fell back, Tom barely sparing him a glance before walking over him and quick firing stunning spells.

"Professor Riddle!" someone yelled from behind the shield charm. Losing focus, Tom glanced back before his eyes widened, registering the sickly green shade of the Killing Curse and dive rolling out of the way. Snarling, Tom slashed the air with his wand, smirking as the caster who almost killed him clutched his dominant arm in pain. Stunning him quickly, Tom wasted no time in getting to his feet, levitating a rather heavy looking set of armor and slamming it into the nearest cluster of Grindlewald's lackeys.

The battle had been going on for nearly three hours, and Tom could feel his magical core slowly but surely depleting. Tom blamed it on Dumbledore, hiring incompetent teachers that have never duelled to save their skin. Ever. In a time of war, no less! Against Tom's better judgement, his spells grew in power and in difficulty as his ears started ringing and his heart started hammering more wildly against his ribcage. Was this really how he was going to die? In Hogwarts, supposedly one of the safest places in Magical Britain, practically duelling every single one of Grindlewald's pawns while maintaining a strong shield all the students and disgustingly _clueless_ professors who were too busy cowering in fear to battle.

Well, the actually _useful_ professors were upstairs battling Grindlewald himself. Tom was left alone to fend for himself and manage to protect most of the children in the Great Hall full of a massive swarm of maroon and white at the same time. A couple of whispered spells from Tom's wand broke off a good portion of the Ravenclaw table and he swung it around, batting away the cloaked men nearest to him. He levitated the heavy piece of furniture towards the group inching towards his shield and used it to hurtle them across the Great Hall, a few bones cracking as they hit the stone walls at a very painful and rapid speed.

How long did it take for a team of five extremely powerful wizards and witches to subdue one wizard? _Dumbledore_ was there for Morgana's sake! What the hell were they doing? With a flick of his wrist, a stunning spell was sent towards a rather tall and big bloke in maroon and white velvet. Tom was getting angrier as his enemies seemed to multiply by the second, and he could feel his magic simmering just below the surface. He breathed heavily, sweat trickling down his neck as he kicked an attacker in the groin before sending him to sleep.

 _Dumbledore is a bloody idiot!_ Tom raged, all other emotions fading away before sending three rather mean blood boiling hexes towards three blonde girls. Ignoring their screams he subdued them before Tom saw it.

He saw a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes on top of the staircase.

Tom wasn't a professor for nothing, he of all people should know composure was key. But after battling for three hours, with the threat of death looming over his head as he was beginning to register his many injuries, and with the way he was disregarded and told to practically _babysit_ professors twice his age rather than being helped defend practically three fourths of the student bdy for more than three hours, he was just about ready to snap.

And snap he did.

His silver magic shot out everywhere, bouncing from his shields and hitting all the remaining Grindelwald supporters successfully. His cold, freezing fury seemed to be the reason why the whole hall's temperature seemed to have dropped more than twenty degrees as streaks of silver flashed blindingly, tearing the whole place apart. Windows cracked and the Ravenclaw table was thrown aside, tapestries destroyed, cutlery and armor sent to the floor crashing with horrendously loud clanging and banging. Taking a deep breath of air, he exhaled slowly before laying murderous eyes on the only opponent left standing.

Gellert Grindelwald smirked, twirling his wand in his hand. "And I thought Albus Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard of the century." Tom watched him in faux calm, his anger letting him see the world with much startling clarity. "Do they honestly think so highly of themselves that they didn't ever consider me finding a way in?"

"What do you want?" Tom's whispered words reached everyone's ears as the whole hall fell silent in awe of the handsome DADA professor's raw power. Students stared wide eyed, lips sealed in fear but eyes wide in desperation and anxiety. Grindlewald simply walked down the steps, never breaking eye contact with eyes that flashed crimson.

"I originally came to take care of Albus, and perhaps make it to the cover of the Daily Prophet. However, I seem to have come across a conundrum, a conundrum with potential no less." Coming to stop ten meters away from him, the Dark Lord grinned madly. "I can offer you anything you would ever want."

"No, you can't," Tom bit out, a ball of fire forming in his hand as he spoke. "No one can." He flicked it towards the Dark Lord, before sending bolts of lightning to his head. The German dodged the fireball and threw up a shield. Tom felt a twinge of satisfaction after his thunderbolt managed to shake and crack the protective barrier. Sending another pair of bolts directly at the Dark Lord's head, Tom flung a silver streak of light towards the shield, watching the wall of protective magic disintegrate completely. One of the lightning bolts struck the man and he fell to his knees in surprise. Tom, unwilling to cast an Unforgivable at Hogwarts, held up a shield surrounding his body as he marched forward, silver chains springing from his wand and wrapping themselves around Grindlewald. A flurry of spells were thrown at him, and Tom wasn't inhumanly quick as to dodge them all.

Tom looked down at his body, only now registering his wounds from the battle he fought almost alone against the maroon-clad idiots and the fresh slash from his left shoulder to his right hip. His body ached, but he paid it no mind as he kicked the Dark Lord in the face. Grindlewald growled at him, breaking free of the chains and lunging towards the younger man with the intent to kill. In Tom's weakened state, Grindlewald should have found it easy.

But Tom was no ordinary man. Grindlewald uttered an intestine ripping hex Tom easily identified and blocked. He sent an identical purple ball at the other and shot a temporary yet painful tongue shrivelling curse at him as well. Grindlewald easily deflected them, and sent a very small but powerful hurricane towards Tom who in his efforts to banish it, suffered a carefully aimed _Reducto_ that only managed to hit his left side as Tom attempted to dodge. Thrown against the wall, Tom took a moment to breathe and wipe the blood away from his lips, his anger and frustration building inside until he was hissing old Parseltongue spells instinctively, watching shallow yet incapacitating wounds to open in lightly tanned skin, thick and glowing bonds wrapping themselves around muscled arms.

The Dark Lord was lifted in the air and then slammed into the ground before Tom's hand grabbed his collar to stare directly into his hateful eyes. "Stay away from Hogwarts," Tom spat, as his moment of clarity began escaping, his body beginning to shut down and his vision getting blurrier and darker by the second.

"Make me," whispered Grindlewald, very much in a similar state, the smell of burning skin disgusting Tom as he raised his yew wand and pointed it to Grindlewald's forehead.

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_

It wasn't Tom.

The last thing Tom saw before he blacked out was a panic-stricken Dumbledore, his long wand aimed at the person who had bloody saved the school and perhaps the Wizarding World, at him.

Tom was furious, and managed to curse at the old man one last time before Tom Riddle knew no more.

 _"I hate you, so much."_

 **HPTR**

"… Did his eyes just flicker?"

"I'll be damned, I think they just did!"

"Hurry, get the boss! Oh, Merlin, I can't believe it worked!"

Tom didn't know where he was, and usually this would send him in high-alert. But right now Tom felt terrible and couldn't muster enough strength to properly open his eyelids.

Thus, he fell back into peaceful, dreamless slumber.

 **HPTR**

"His name is Tom?"

"Yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle," a familiar sounding voice answered, sorrow in his words. "He is eighteen years old, a smart, powerful lad. Keep him with you at all times, my boy."

"Yes, Headmaster."


	2. Chapter One: Home is Not Where You Live

**A/N: Hello! As some of you may have figured out, I am a slow updater. But! Please don't let that deter you from reading. And I know some of you may have found the Pocket!Tom idea kinda weird since magic could technically solve the problems, and I make up excuses as I go. I could've just _let_ Tom be born as pocket-sized, I feel, but it's too late for that. **

**I hope everyone is having a good day! Please let me know your thoughts on the story. If some of the characters' actions, reactions and words may not be totally believable, and if my excuses for Pocket!Tom may not sound legit to you, I'd like to know. I did start writing this story for fun, but it doesn't mean that I can't learn a little from it too. :) And while I _know_ that the story has holes in it and my writing isn't the best, it's still nice to be able to hear from real people!**

 **Without further ado, please enjoy!**

 **Word count: 5234**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

Harry Potter sat alone in his compartment, locked in and wishing even his best friends Ron and Hermione wouldn't go looking for him. The soon to be fourteen year old felt empty, the prospect of a loving godfather and a true home which was once so near was now too far away. Emerald eyes simply stared into open palms splayed out on his pant-clothed lap, thinking about the could've beens and what ifs. A small sigh escapes his lips, Harry wasn't looking forward to the summer at all.

Leaning against his neck and dozing cluelessly on his left shoulder was Tom Riddle, the miniature protector the Headmaster had assigned to Harry.

 _Harry gazed at the sleeping person in the palm of his hand, the other gripping his robes tightly as he listened to the headmaster. "Treat him kindly, Tom is just a rather small person, and is just like the rest of us."_

 _"You say he is an experiment of this… Department of Mysteries?"_

 _"Yes, my boy, the Department of Mysteries is a branch in the government heading very intuitive, dangerous and mind-boggling experiments, and Tom is one of the said experiments' results." His eyes twinkled at Harry, but he could only offer a weak smile in return. "You see, Harry, before Tom's soul escaped his body, someone managed to preserve it until a new host for it was crafted. The creation of Tom's body took many, many years to perfect, even with his original body preserved as well for their guide. He looks exactly like he did around fifty, sixty years ago, and is an adept duelist."_

 _"But why would you assign him to me?"_

 _"With the threat of Grindlewald looming over the Wizarding World, the certainty that the Dark Lord is still after you and what with the events that have transpired over the past three years, I think some sort of protection should be provided for you. You_ are _the Boy-Who-Lived, trouble seems to find you everywhere you go." Again, Harry caught the sorrow laced in the headmaster's words. "It is hard for me to admit this, but it also because I have… wronged Tom, and I hope that I am doing him good by entrusting you to him. You both are so similar, yet so different at the same time. Perhaps you and he will find companionship in the other."_

 _Harry didn't fully understand what the Headmaster had meant, but had slowly nodded and pretended as if he did anyway. Casting a heating charm at the small figure in his palm when Tom shivered lightly, Harry's smile widened just a little at the older man. "Thank you, Headmaster."_

 _"Call him Professor Riddle, Harry, although he is rather small I am thinking about giving him back the position he should have never had to leave."_

In all honesty, Professor Riddle's very slight weight was comforting and something Harry could get used to very quickly. Slouching in his seat, Harry closed his eyes and tried not to think about what awaited him at King's Cross.

And immediately snapped them open as he felt something shift on his shoulder.

He felt Professor Riddle sway dangerously, and on pure instinct Harry's hand shot to immediately steady the unbalanced and groggy wizard. Tiny fingers clawed his neck and palm a second after Riddle yelped.

Harry gave him a moment to catch his breath and probably racing heart, and to drink in his surroundings. From what Dumbledore said, Harry was pretty sure Professor Riddle wasn't about six centimetres tall his entire life. The green-eyed wizard would eat the Giant Squid if the older wizard wouldn't panic or get angry—

 _"What in_ Merlin's _name did Dumbledore do to me?"_

Ah, so it was the latter.

Tapping the admittedly good looking wizard very, very lightly with his finger, Harry laid out the palm of his hand and he got the message immediately, jumping from his shoulder to his hand. He held the professor in front of him and tried to give him a small smile. The scowl Harry received didn't deter him in the slightest.

"Hello," greeted Harry softly. "My name is Harry Potter. Dumbledore isn't here right now but I can certainly answer a few questions." Harry honestly was too tired for anything right now. If Professor Riddle wasn't in the compartment with him he probably would have just opted to curl up on the floor and take a nap.

Professor Riddle looked about ready to explode. He must be very confused.

"Could you enlarge me?" Professor Riddle demanded. Harry shook his head.

"No can do. Firstly, it will only be temporary, secondly, Dumbledore told me not to because the Unspeakables said that it might mess your body up. They took about, fifty, sixty years to make it."

Professor Riddle scoffed. "So I'm supposed to be an old man. And is Dumbledore _still_ headmaster? I remember him shooting a Killing Curse at me, why is he not in Azkaban?"

"He is still… and I've heard about that from my friend Hermione," Harry replied slowly, slowly rising to consciousness as he remembered his bushy-haired friend gossiping with him and Ron about "one of the greatest scandals of all time". "So it was you who was the Defense professor Dumbledore accidentally killed all those years ago, bu t— "

"I am alive and well, so it seems that the Killing Curse failed. Partially, anyway." Professor Riddle finished for him. "And the Department of Mysteries found it intriguing and decided to use me as one of their human experiments," the dark-haired man sneered. "And now I am oh so blessed to have a body as small as a ring finger. How delightful."

Harry found the little professor's sarcasm and cynicism rather refreshing, but didn't make a comment about it. "I was told that you were assigned to be my protector? The Killing Curse rebounded on Grindlewald when I was a year old, so apparently, I'm the Savior of the Wizarding World. Dumbledore told me I'd be needing protection, but I'm not going to force you into anything. You can go and be free, if you'd like," Harry suggested.

"Wait, the Killing Curse rebounded?" Professor Riddle perked up from where he was standing on Harry's palm. Harry found him to be rather the comical character. In fact, the Boy-Who-Lived found the whole thing to be quite the comedic joke. The man probably had more important things to do than to babysit a third year. "Do you have any idea why it rebounded, and why it didn't finish him off completely?"

"Not a clue," Harry shook his head, letting Professor Riddle down on the space beside him, turning to face the tiny, tiny professor. The other seemed to barely notice, eyes glazing over as he got lost in thought. He was a well-respected man in his original time and body, Harry remembered as he recognized the intellectual glaze that Hermione's eyes had sometimes. Professor Riddle had smarts.

"This is the Hogwarts Express," he murmured, finally snapping up and recognizing his surroundings. "Away or going to Hogwarts?"

"Away," Harry answered, looking out the window. The weather was quite beautiful. "We're not yet done loading up, but you might have figured that out already." The older man snorted but chose not to reply for a few minutes, sitting down and obviously ignoring him in favor of thinking. Harry could only imagine the man's mind running at a hundred miles per second, racing in order to find a solution to his problem or attempting to make sense of what was happening. He must be a little disoriented, everything does seem very big, Harry mused.

"So Dumbledore assigns me to the vanquisher of Grindlewald, in this rather disgusting state. And apparently, the man _doesn't_ belong in Azkaban, even after attempted murder." He finally deadpans. Harry tore his gaze away from the Hogwarts students trickling in to lock eyes with the small wizard. "I give myself until the end of your next school year to find a way out of this pitiful state, but until then, I'll be a good boy and grant Dumbledore's wishes," Rolling his eyes, Professor Riddle stood up. "I trust food and accommodation is something I shouldn't have to worry about?"

"I think so, although my relatives aren't good company. Perhaps stay out of the house a lot?" Harry thought of the abuse he has suffered in the care of his relatives and bit his lip. He forgot about that. He could always steal food for Professor Riddle, Harry doubted he needed a plateful of food to survive like normal people, his stomach should be unbelievably minute.

"I'm willing to tolerate unpleasant company. I believe I am still capable of work in the Wizarding World, although I'd rather not be seen like this." Harry ignored the cold grip of foreboding after hearing Professor Riddle's words, shaking his head. It wouldn't be too hard to hide the abuse from the other man if Harry managed to convince him to stay away from the house or to laze around in the small bedroom.

"If you're sure," he said instead, looking out the large window again, ignorant to the hurricane quickly wrecking all order in the Leglimency-experienced wizard a few inches beside him. A few minutes of comfortable silence passed between the two, before the immaculate-looking wizard spoke up again.

"The entire situation is so utterly laughable that if it weren't happening to me, I wouldn't believe a word." Harry snorted.

"Same here, Professor. But I really appreciate you not going mad and going on a rampage to wring Dumbledore's neck. Getting almost killed by him but instead getting sent to the future in a tiny body is a rather enticing incentive to do so." Professor Riddle barked out a laugh, and Harry was startled by how… nice the sound was. It sounded genuine, almost accidental, and was certainly a nice change from the scowling and frowning Harry was pretty sure would be sent his way more often than not.

The Hogwarts train groaned, and lurched slightly forward, heavy doors closing with soft bangs. Professor Riddle amazingly maintained his balance, much to Harry's half-hidden awe. Harry was pretty sure he himself would've ended up in a heap on the floor if he was his size.

"What year are you in?" Professor Riddle inquired.

"I'm in my third year, going fourth. I'll be fourteen this summer." Harry answered, leaning back on his seat to look at the other man.

"Do you happen to have any remotely interesting books with you?"

"Umm, well no. All I have are textbooks," Harry admitted, feeling very incompetent speaking with the obviously book smart and witty wizard. Then he remembered. "Oh, I brought with me a muggle Psychology book and a muggle Astrology book if you're interested? And I think I have Macbeth with me, but not too sure on that."

Professor Riddle sighed. "I suppose those will do to ease my boredom. Could you shrink them and pass them to me?" Harry nodded, standing up on the seat to pull his featherlight trunk out of the tall shelf. He was a rather short person, even for his age. After rummaging in his trunk to find the books and shrinking them afterwards, he carefully placed them next to the professor before pushing his trunk on the shelf again.

Professor Riddle watched him curiously. "A Potter, a Pureblood name, and yet you do things manually by instinct. You have muggle books as well."

"My mother is a muggleborn, and besides, I've never met my parents. Grindlewald killed them before he shot the Killing Curse at me, and now I live with my muggle relatives."

"Ah, I do remember mentioning relatives but I assumed that you lived with them _and_ your parents," he mused. "If Grindlewald got through your parents first before the curse rebounded, then that opens many other possibilities. It's curious how a Dark Lord has been vanquished because of a one year old that walks away unscathed."

"Not true, I do have a lightning bolt shaped scar on my forehead," Harry lifted his bangs to show him.

"A curse scar…" he muttered, head tilting so slightly Harry almost didn't see the small movement. "How interesting. You wouldn't mind if I apparated to the public library with you during the summer? I would rather go alone but I'm afraid this body has many limitations."

"I'll see if I can sneak out," Harry said simply, thinking about the beatings he would get if the Dursleys found out. "A bit of warning, my relatives hate magic."

Harry didn't quite catch the darkening of Professor Riddle's eyes from chestnut brown to a flashing crimson. "Not uncommon," he said darkly, picking up the psychology book Harry had shrunk. Patting himself down for his wand, he pulled it out of a pocket and suspended himself and the book in the air with a muttered charm. He didn't say anymore on the subject, opting to read the book instead. Harry didn't mind and sighed, closing his eyes. A few minutes later and he was fast asleep, dreaming of Dementors, werewolves, chocolate and big black dogs.

And awakening to the sound of three smart raps on the door.

"Harry?" a tentative voice called out. Hermione, Harry realized groggily. He saw Professor Riddle glance up from his book, still levitating about three feet in the air. "We know you're in there, may we come in?" Harry let out a small sigh. While he did like having the compartment to himself with Tom Riddle, he felt much more refreshed after taking a nap and wasn't as glum as he was. He stood up to open the compartment door, but was stopped by a hiss.

"What do you think you're doing? I can't be seen like this!"

Harry blinked twice at Professor Riddle, confusion and bleariness evident in his tired features. "I'm letting one of my best friends in the compartment. You'd rather they not see you?" The older man huffed, although Harry was sure he would deny doing so if asked.

" _Yes,_ I would rather they not see me. It leads to questions and complications, everything would be simpler if they just didn't know." he argued firmly. Harry just thought he wouldn't want to seem weak or something lesser than others. However, Harry _did_ see the pros in keeping him a secret.

"Well, I can't just ignore her." Professor Riddle sighed, a hint of irritation in his voice as he muttered a "Fine, have it your way." In the next second he had disillusioned himself and had perched himself on Harry's shoulder. Much closer now to Harry's line of hearing, the emerald-eyed boy could now hear the distinct and calming sound of turning pages. In order not to disturb the other dark-haired man in his reading, Harry unlocked the door with his wand and watched it slide open, wondering why Hermione didn't just spell the door open.

Perhaps Hermione was scared of his reaction? This was a rather sensitive time for him.

He was met with a most familiar and admittedly welcoming sight of a tall, gangly redhead and a bushy haired bookworm. "Harry, mate!" Ron exclaimed. "We've been looking all over for you!" the two stood awkwardly at the entrance, taking in the sight of Harry at the corner of the compartment, right before Harry laughed and ushered them in with a gesture. He shut the door with magic, not wanting to shake Professor Riddle's concentration.

"Hi," muttered Harry weakly as the pair sat in the opposite seat. He heard Professor Riddle turn a page, and relaxed a little. Ron opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to find the right words and closed it again, sighing. Hermione wrung her hands before slumping down the seat as well.

"It's bloody unfair that you have to go to the Dursleys this summer," Ron finally groaned. "You'll come by the Burrow, yeah?"

"They treat you like dirt, we can report them to the authorities, you know!" Hermione added. Harry felt his little companion stir on his shoulder.

Harry chuckled a little humorlessly. They didn't know the whole truth of the abuse and neglect he had suffered, didn't know how many times he had tried to run to the authorities. He had to learn the hard way that the "authorities" either didn't care or weren't as powerful as he thought they would be.

"I'll be fine, it's not that bad or anything," he brushed it off experiencedly. "Besides, I'll make sure to write, and I'll try to come by too, but I won't know how to get to the Burrow." Harry offered a small smile.

"Dad and the twins will pick 'Mione up, they could do the same for you." Ron reassured, eyes lighting up. Harry felt touched that he would be genuinely wanted in the Burrow. "Lee Jordan might come over too."

Harry laughed a little inwardly, remembering the guy's hilarious commentary during Quidditch matches. "I'll be glad to see him."

The tension dissolved away quickly, and soon, the three were talking about things regular thirteen year olds talked about, like their summer homework and the twins' most outrageous pranks that school year. Sure, they weren't normal kids, and Harry personally lost the privilege of growing up much later, but that didn't mean that sometimes they could pretend that everything was alright, and put off their problems for a later date.

Through it all, Tom Riddle sat straddling the boy's shoulder, the small book half open. The great Tom Riddle was at a loss on what to do, but was secretly thankful for another day in his life. Now, how to spend it, Tom thought carefully.

 **HPTR**

Contact with the Potter boy wasn't all that bad, Tom mused as he reclined on Potter's shoulder, leaning against his neck. The raven-haired boy was stepping out of the train, dragging his now feather-light (courtesy of Tom) trunk. Tom looked around, noting how the fashion trends have been altered over the years. Lighter fabrics were being used, a significant and much welcome change from the heavy and layered clothes from Tom's own time. The colors were much brighter and the shoes were a little unfamiliar, but Tom will come to realize a little later with not a little amount of bewilderment that the Wizarding World itself hadn't progressed much as he flips through Potter's schoolbooks.

But now, in the present, he admired the slightly different architecture, not concluding for the first time that he did, essentially, count as a time traveler. Who traveled almost fifty years into the future.

His circumstances were rather comical, but he was alive, wasn't he? Plots of revenge on the old man flitted through his head, but he pushed them away. While he would love to rip the man's heart out for attempted murder, a destroyed career, a very great disturbance in his own lifestyle and the inconvenience of his now bewilderingly tiny body, he had other things to worry about.

Like, getting back to his original size without, say, blowing an organ up in his body. Curse the intricacies of the human anatomy, and the Department of Mysteries for using Merlin knows what to create his vessel. He would need to know the _exact_ things they used, and have a list of all the spells involved in the creation of his body. And if after all that thorough research, if a simple _Engorgio_ would have worked Tom would throw himself off a cliff.

Curse Albus Dumbledore, the meddling old fool. After all these years, he was still in love with that insane, megalomaniac and probably panicked at the prospect of losing him. Love made people very, very stupid. Stupid enough to kill DADA professors who was just doing their job, and possibly saving the entire Wizarding World from falling into a deeper hole of mass destruction. Tom had every right to be angry with him, but in the end he chose to reign down his rage and force himself to remember that this was a great opportunity given by the fates. He had more opportunities in the future than he had back in his own time, and was now even way younger than Dumbledore. Tom was in his prime, his old enemies wouldn't be bothering him anymore.

"Those are my relatives, over there," murmured Potter. Tom snapped up from his lost state to follow Potter's line of vision, and immediately regretted it. He blanched at the size of the two beach whales, and the perpetually irritated face on the bigger beach whale and on the horse-like woman beside him.

Unpleasant would be one way to describe them, Tom thought while remembering Potter's words from the train.

Without a word, his relatives stepped in the car after seeing Potter, and the raven-haired boy gulped, easily hauling the trunk at the back thanks to the charm and hesitantly stepping into the back with what Tom assumed to be his cousin. Tom was pretty sure four of Potter could fit in _those_ jeans.

The car ride was silent, and Tom pretended not to notice that he had felt the boy shiver.

 **HPTR**

Of all the horrible things Tom thought Potter's relatives could've done, he never dreamed that this would be one of them.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was currently sitting down on a ratty old thin mattress with a full-sized thirteen year old boy.

In. A. Bloody. Cupboard.

Harry's things were stored away, locked in apparently the _second, unused bedroom_ used as storage for the Dursley (an unfortunate surname for equally unfortunate beings, Tom thought after learning their names) brat's extensive supply of broken toys and old things. A single light bulb hung from one of the higher wooden steps, and Potter had cleaned the small space of dirt and cobwebs already. A small, very small pile of clothes were at the foot of the mattress that was slashed to fit, and a moth-eaten blanket and a flat, rock-hard pillow were provided.

Merlin, Tom was so irritated.

"You allow them to treat you like this?" Tom uttered in complete disgust, bringing out his wand. He first expanded the cupboard to a _suitable,_ bedroom-like size before spelling magical windows in the room. The scarlet-eyed professor promptly, transfigured the floors to deep mahogany wood and the walls an eggshell white.

Within minutes, Harry was standing in an actual bedroom. There was a nice bed with a soft-looking mattress, a thin but _new_ and nice blanket and a fluffy pillow. He had an actual desk and chair, a cabinet and Riddle even added a comfortable looking carpet. Light filtered in the room for the magical windows Harry had no idea how Professor Riddle had conjured, and there was a rather simple looking bookcase besides the desk.

"Wow," breathed Harry. He turned to look at the small man who was on the bookcase, staring smugly at him. "Thank you. I mean it."

"We _are_ wizards, Potter. A little secret, no matter what the authorities say they'll never be able to trace magic outside of school if you don't use your wand." He twirled the wand in his fingers for show before tucking it out of sight. "You should murder them for treating you like filth."

Harry didn't respond, barely hearing the professor's words as he ran a hand over the soft material of his new blanket. He did a full circle, fully drinking in the bedroom that was now his. He never dreamed of such a luxury, and Professor Riddle had given it to him with such ease.

"Thank you," Harry looked the scarlet-eyed man in the eyes directly and threw a genuine, small smile. The man froze, and a hesitant, tiny nod was given in return.

 **HPTR**

Harry was a pretty decent cook. He had to start pretty young, at the tender age of four years old, and learned most of what he knew about cooking through cookbooks and of course, the teachings of burns from the stove and beatings from Uncle Vernon. Aunt Petunia used to whack him with a frying pan whenever he made a mistake, especially when he was still much younger. It was absolutely nothing compared to the beatings Uncle Vernon used to give him whenever the breakfast wasn't to his liking.

And in Harry's opinion, cooking was the best chore the Dursleys could ever possibly give him. He was indoors, safe from the heat and the scorching hot summer sun, and also left unbothered by the Dursleys. Harry flipped a pancake, wandlessly levitating several plates and silverware to the table. He had always been able to do wandless magic, and when Professor Riddle had off-handedly told him that wandless magic couldn't be traced to him, he had taken advantage of the opportunity and done many things with the convenience of magic. Harry wouldn't have to worry about not getting his chores done in time.

Professor Riddle did warn him not to use them outside, though, for fear of muggles seeing. Wandless magic also wasn't commonly used in the Wizarding World, people would notice and frown if Harry chose to do wandless magic in front of them. Not many people had that much control over their magic, even a lot of the adults couldn't do what Harry did, according to his small companion. Harry was powerful.

Harry just thought he needed his magic a lot when he was younger but didn't have a bloody wand.

The alarm spell went off, and Harry hurriedly turned the heat down for the bacon. After ten more minutes, Harry had breakfast served rather nicely on the table. He duplicated an empty tupperware and got some food for himself (and Professor Riddle, but he ate so little because of his stomach that Harry could practically give him crumbs) and casting a heating charm and a disillusionment on it, running to place it in his cupboard turned bedroom.

Professor Riddle had conjured a rather luxurious looking loveseat on his desk and was now lounging on it languidly, another book in between his fingers.

"I still don't understand why you allow your relatives to walk all over you like that," he snapped as Harry handed him a wandlessly shrunken yet enticing looking American breakfast.

Harry bit his lip. In all honesty, he wasn't able to give the other an answer when he demanded to know why Harry didn't curse the Dursleys into submission or just simply walk out. The abuse and neglect he had suffered from the Dursleys wasn't _as bad_ as others', Harry had convinced himself before. Another reason was because Professor Dumbledore told him to stay, and that the Weasleys were going to pick him up and it'll all be okay. He _had_ tried to leave in his third year, and Harry just _knew_ returning this summer would make Uncle Vernon unbelievably smug and drunk in the power and control he had over Harry. He was just waiting for the small raven-haired boy to slip.

So, why didn't he _actually_ leave now? He had an adult with him, there was no reason to be afraid. And he had no qualms going against Dumbledore, the headmaster couldn't have any idea on what went on at Number Four.

Harry sighed. "When it gets bad, I'll pack up and leave."

"Child, what you would have gone through had I not been here is as bad as it gets." Professor Riddle deadpanned. "The neglect of your relatives is inhumane."

 _Perhaps I deserve it,_ Harry thought in his mind. But he verbally replied, "Then I'm really glad you're with me right now, Professor."

That stunned Professor Riddle into silence, and Harry waved a little too cheerfully before he started digging in his own breakfast, mentally listing down the chores Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia gave him. Again, it was a really long list, but with wandless magic by his side Harry was pretty sure he could have this accomplished in half the time needed.

 **HPTR**

"… know how he did it, Petunia, but he managed to do all the chores we've assigned! With no mistake!"

"That's a good thing, Vernon, dear, he seems to be much faster now with the chores. We can assign him more, the house needs to be spotless. I've heard there will be new neighbors."

"Petunia, what if he's using his _freakishness_ to do his chores faster?"

"Nonsense, they aren't allowed to use their sticks outside of school. That freak is at least paying his dues to us."

"… If you say so, dear. But I'll be watching him!"

Harry bit his lip, cancelling the eavesdropping charm Fred and George had taught him last year. He didn't recognize the emotion that was festering in him, but it was fear.

Harry was afraid, but he didn't realize it at the time.

 **HPTR**

The next day went by the same. He was whacked in the head and tossed out the room "without breakfast" (Harry had disillusioned a tupperware full of food and hid it underneath his baggy shirt) for taking too long with cooking the food, and was told to do his chores immediately.

It was a long, _long_ list but even if Harry was growing more reluctant to use his wandless magic, he was sure no human could ever do these chores in time. He was more hesitant to suffer another beating, thank you very much.

By the end of the day, Harry was an exhausted lump on the bed. Professor Riddle had run off to Gringotts for money and identification papers that Dumbledore had promised him in a letter. Harry was pretty sure the man was taking his time in several bookstores, now that the man had finally snapped and enlarged himself using magic. Unfortunately, the charm was temporary, and to hold it up for too long was still a strain on his magical core. Professor Riddle even had a theory that if he used the enlargement charm too many times on himself, his body will become resistant to the charm.

Harry doubted it, but then again he and Professor Riddle didn't know what his body was made out of. For all they knew, it could happen, and Professor Riddle wasn't willing to take a lot of chances when it came to his body. After all, he could die. After almost fifty years of research, preservation charms and experimentation. Professor Riddle valued his life and this second chance, that honestly, shouldn't even be needed, above many things if not all.

Harry turned on his side, tucking himself further in the sheets. The fatigue was getting to him, not even the food he managed to steal from the Dursleys gave him enough energy to finish his chores with the help of wandless magic. Using magic without wands did exert Harry more than magic with wands did. Without even knowing it, Harry's eyes drooped before fluttering and closing, a peaceful darkness overcoming the spent thirteen year old.

A peaceful darkness, to be ruined by his uncle opening the cupboard door and taking the sight of the room in. The fat man stood in shock, stepping in the humble yet comfortable room and looking all around him. As his eyes fell on the boy, a vein popped in his forehead and he clenched his chubby fists tightly. His face turned purple and he advanced to the sleeping green-eyed child heavily. Eyes wide with rage, he screamed.

"FREAK! YOU ARE DEAD!"

 **HPTR**

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